Really Bad Clothes
by becoafamu
Summary: AU college-fic. Zemyx fluff. Written for the lovely LiteraryMirage! Demyx wants to go to Starbucks, and gosh darn it, Zexion is going to go with him.


This fic was written for the lovely LiteraryMirage, who requested Zemyx fluff, that contained one or both heroes using the phrase "What are you _wearing_?" I tried to write a fairytale, and then this happened instead. I hope you like it! :D

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The day began with six simple little words, too frequently heard in groggy weekend mid-afternoons on college campuses across the good nation of the U.S. of A.

"I want to go to Starbucks."

The speaker, the wanter of the Starbucks, if you will, was one Demyx Dominic, a fairly ordinary and mild-mannered college student, except of course for the whole gay thing. He was pursuing a major in Music, not any specific type, along with a minor in American Studies. When people asked what he was planning to do with that particular set of degrees, Demyx would point at the sky and comment on the weather, or say he was late for a doctor's appointment, or sometimes both.

This afternoon, Demyx had awoken at around two o'clock, brushed his teeth the way he always did, and then was hit full-on by a craving for Starbucks, like a stream-roller bearing down on a tiny cardboard box full of kittens, where the steam-roller was Starbucks, and his stomach was the box of kittens, and the only way to save the kittens was to douse them in a delicious iced white mocha with extra vanilla syrup and whipped cream. Or something. He managed to control himself for an hour, hour and a half or so, but finally, the craving overcame him. And so, armed with some strained metaphors, his wits, and a smokin' hot bod, Demyx planted himself firmly outside his roommate and lover's bedroom, knocked frantically, and announced his needs in plain language.

"I want to go to Starbucks."

On the other side of the door, the addressee of the Starbucks want, one Zexion Zytle, groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over both of his ears. Zexion had recently declared a double major in English Literature and Creative Writing. When asked what he planned to do with those degrees, Zexion would stare at whoever was asking until they got uncomfortable and left. Today, he had slept in until past three, mostly because it was the weekend, and he had to sleep twenty hours a day on weekends, like a koala, to make up for the way he didn't sleep at all during the week.

He and Demyx had met in the back row of an Early American Literature class, and had bonded over passing notes about the musical Wicked and how their professor looked like a turnip. About halfway through the semester, they were banned from sitting next to each other, on the grounds that they were a "distraction" to the "other students." The seeds of love, however, had already been sown, and by the end of the year, they had been on exactly six dates, had had sex exactly eleven times, and had decided to move in together exactly once.

That was two years ago. Zexion, being a Writer, capital W, had a rather vivid imagination, and he fancied himself a Prince in his tiny little castle, thus making Demyx the Princess, or possibly Prince second-in-command, if you wanted to be literal about it. The castle was of course anything but, and was in actuality 72 Vine Street Apartment 0, the basement unit, which meant it didn't even have any windows, which was probably illegal, but the place was pee-water cheap, so Demyx and Zexion weren't about to complain. No one bothered to emphasize to Zexion that he lived in a windowless basement, because that would disrupt his artistic vision.

But now that his boyfriend had rudely awakened him at the painfully early hour of 3:47 P.M. - who knew that time even existed on a Saturday?- Zexion was very aware that he was in a basement and awake, as opposed to in a basement and asleep, the way he was supposed to be. Maybe Demyx was like a grizzly bear, and if he played dead and pretended not to be here, he'd go away.

"Zexion! I want to go to Starbucks!"

Wait. Was it grizzlies you were supposed to play dead for, or were they the ones who would just eat your dead carcass anyway? Zexion frantically tried to remember what he'd learned on his childhood Boy Scout trip to the Great Lakes Wildlife Museum.

Out in the drafty palace corridor, Princess Demyx pressed his ear up on the door. He could hear Zexion muttering to himself- he always talked out loud to himself when he was thinking, which meant he was awake, and deciding whether or not to let it be known. Demyx could've sworn he heard something about bears, though. Why _bears_? This, this right here, was why he wasn't supposed to wake Zexion up before 5- crazy stuff started happening. But he really, really wanted some Starbucks.

"Zex, I know you're awake. I can hear you talking to yourself." The wildlife mumblings stopped immediately. "Come on, let's go to Starbucks."

"Go by yourself!" came Zexion's muffled reply. He sounded like he'd pulled a pillow over his head or something. Aw, that was cute. Demyx pressed his nearly naked body- he was still only wearing his boxers- up against the door, and prepared his best adorable boyfriend whine.

"I can't go to Starbucks by _myself_! It's too expensive," he whined, like a champion of whiners. "It has to be a social outing or it's not worth it." He pushed his ear back up to the door jam. Zexion was muttering to himself again, which meant that part of him was seriously considering Demyx's suggestion, which meant that Demyx was oh so totally going to win, just like he always did. From his perspective, he was doing his boyfriend a favor, anyway- Zexion _loved _Starbucks, like puppies love Christmas, but he'd never go on his own because he was lazy and delusional. In a good way, of course.

Inside his private chambers, Zexion struggled to decide whether to give Demyx what he wanted. On the one hand, he was indignant at being woken up just to go to Starbucks, but on the other hand, he really liked Starbucks. On the third hand, he hadn't washed his sheets in a couple weeks and they were starting to reek of sweat and old sex, and if he stayed where he was, he might asphyxiate. Decisions, decisions. Zexion didn't like to make decisions. That was why he was an English major. By the sound of the fidgeting outside, Demyx was getting impatient, too.

"Oh, geez, Zexion, just get out of bed," he grumbled. "Can I at least come inside? You know I just do this to humor you- we don't even have locks on our doors." Zexion didn't respond, so Demyx kept right on going. "I feel like we're on some trashy sex line or something. Oooh, sexy Zexy, what are you _wearing_?" The husky line was accompanied by a weird rustling noise that almost certainly meant that Demyx was trying to dry-hump Zexion's door, sexily of course.

"Ok, fine, you can come in," Zexion croaked, in his just-woke-up voice. Demyx whooped with glee and threw the door open, ran into the tiny room, vaulted over the piles of clothes and books and what-have-you, and landed rather squarely straddled over Zexion's hips. He was sorry to say that having Demyx on top of him was a little too stimulating for this early in the day.

"Good evening, snuggle bunny," Demyx grinned down at his boyfriend. Zexion was just too unbearably cute when he first woke up. Something about his constitution made him sweat profusely while he slept, so he always woke up a disgusting, sweaty mess, even if he went to bed squeaky-clean, and as such, every morning his bangs would plaster themselves to his face in a way that was simultaneously vaguely disgusting and absolutely adorable. Also, he had terrible morning breath. But Demyx loved him anyway, and that's how you know it's _true_ love, you know?

"It's not evening, it's afternoon," Zexion grumbled defensively. Demyx leaned down and gave him a kiss- on the cheek, of course, because of the terrible morning breath.

"It's almost 4. That's the evening." His boyfriend decided that for this particular battle, he would lay down his sword and shield and surrender, moving directly on to the questions at hand.

"Why did you wake me up? You're not even dressed or showered yet."

"Please. No one in this town showers." It was true. College towns were like that. Any time, any day of the week, everyone on the streets would be wandering around in a daze of perpetual hangover and perpetual flu, clad entirely in gear they just bought at the college store so they wouldn't have to do laundry, greasy hair hidden by a greasy hat. How they all managed to survive without succumbing to a mass epidemic, no one could be entirely sure. Demyx knew a kid who was doing a biology thesis on that very subject. Contrary to public health concerns, however, the notion of not showering made Zexion perk up immediately.

"Does that mean-"

"No. _You_ shower 'cause you're gross." Zexion huffed and shoved Demyx off of him, causing the taller boy to tumble bumble pell mell off the bed and into a bookcase. Without helping him up, Zexion grabbed a dirty towel and stomped off towards the bathroom, very regally of course. After a couple seconds, the water turned on the way it usually did, first at a drizzle and slowly picking up speed. Demyx picked himself up and flounced back down the hall to his own room, also very regally of course, in a manner befitting a Princess or a Prince second-in-command, depending on how you wanted to look at it.

Demyx's bedroom had both a moat and a thorny jungle to keep out intruders. In literal terms, the moat was his pile of half-full dirty glasses, and the thorny jungle was his guitar collection. Demyx collected guitars the way dogs collect fleas. He ran out of space to hang them on the walls, so now they were piled artfully around the floor, creating a delicate maze navigable only by those who already knew where they were going, that is, only by Demyx himself. He hop, skip, jumped over to his closet, also known as the Cave of No Return, and after some digging found a reasonably clean pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. Demyx also grabbed a loose tie- who even knew he _had _any ties?- and, brandishing it like a whip, battled his way back towards the door, just like Prince Phillip in _Sleeping Beauty. _Phillip would always have a very special place in Demyx's heart, as he was Demyx's first-ever man crush. He was kind of embarrassed about it, so Zexion was the only person he'd ever told, mostly because Zexion's first man crush had been Bill Nye the Science Guy, so he couldn't judge.

By this time, Zexion had showered and dressed himself, also in a button-down shirt and jeans, both slightly too big because they were hand-me-downs from an older brother who was considerably taller than he was. He was waiting by the door, wallet and cell phone in pocket. Demyx always took much too long to get ready, mostly since moving around in his room was nigh impossible. But eventually he emerged, looking the image of a sexy young college kid, and the two linked arms and stepped outside, ready to begin their journey to Starbucks.

In Zexion's imagination, they lived in a beautiful village in a world that may or may not have ever been, with cobblestoned streets and horses and castles and magic. They actually lived in a world that definitely was and is better known to you and me as Western New York, in a dippy college town with cracked asphalt and old cars and run-down houses and financial aid and cafeteria food and brutal, oppressive reality. Right now it was spring, though, so the leaves were out and some of the trees were even in bloom, shading the faded roads and giving the place an ethereal, lost-worldy look. Set against nature, the broken dwellings looked peaceful- in the winter when everything was dead, the town looked like a nightmare.

The Starbucks was located right on Main Street, about a ten minute walk from Chateau ZexDex, in the only part of town that had shops at all. The students all referred to this area as downtown, despite the fact that it was the _only _part of town. Besides the Starbucks, there was the campus bookstore, three bars, a breakfast place, a sandwich place, a gas station, and an overpriced clothing boutique. This last store had the greatest impact on the, shall we say, _vibe_ of the town, because it was the only place within miles to buy clothes, and so was quite popular with the students. The problem was, their clothes were completely bizarre, with mismatched colors, and zippers and pockets in basically every place imaginable where no one should ever put zippers and pockets. As such, the students at Zexion and Demyx's university had a style that was somehow both years behind and years ahead of the norm, resulting in a time warp effect that tended to scare all but the bravest of prospective students. Everyone suspected that that was how the admissions team weeded out the riff-raff.

For one example of the town's unique stylings, outside of the Starbucks, which was of course snugly nestled between a bar and the sandwich place, two older students were having an argument.

"Hey, check out Dark-and-Mysterious-With-Four-Belts-and-a-Cropped-Fuzzy-Jacket and Pretty-Boy-Wannabe-Super-Hero," Demyx said to Zexion, not bothering to lower his voice. The first student was, indeed, dark and mysterious, did indeed have four belts around his hips, and was indeed wearing a cropped jacket lined with fur. The second had on a sleeveless zip-up turtleneck sweater, and a one-shouldered cape. Outfits like this were pretty everyday in this place, and the two boys had clearly had the same idea as Zexion and Demyx in going to the Starbucks. Zexion and Demyx didn't like to eavesdrop, but aw heck, they loved to eavesdrop.

"What are you _wearing_?" Four-Belts was asking Pretty-Boy.

"I got it at Sassafras, isn't it great?" Sassafras was the name of the boutique. Pretty-Boy swirled his cape around him, just like the wannabe super hero that he so clearly was. "Why do you have so many belts on? Those are the tightest pants I've ever seen!"

"Hey. _This _one is holding them up- the rest just look good," said Four-Belts, pointing to the one belt that was actually where a belt was meant to be. Pretty-Boy laughed, apparently in agreement. Both boys shrugged and went into the Starbucks, argument forgotten in the name of stylin' clothing choices. Zexion just shook his head. He'd long since given up on expecting anything in this place to be normal, but Demyx had tried to fight back. Armed with a box of Chips Ahoy and a sign-up sheet, he'd gone to an activities fair to start a Really Bad Hair club to combat the really bad clothes, leading by example with his elaborate mohawk. Only one person signed up- a girl named Larxene who, to this day, gelled all of her bangs straight up into the air. Every time he saw her on campus, Demyx would grab whoever was near him and point to her proudly and say hey, see that chick's hair? See that? _I _did that. Larxene's hair was his greatest contribution to campus life.

Thankfully, the Starbucks didn't have a line. They'd arrived after the wake-up crowd but before the post-dinner gotta-caffeine-up-before-we-go-do-something-stupid crowd. Since it was Saturday, there weren't very many people studying, either, giving the place an uncrowded and peaceful atmosphere. Demyx knew exactly what he wanted, of course, so while Zexion slunk to the condiments bar to restock on napkins, straws, and sugar, he marched right up to the counter and ordered a large iced white mocha with whipped cream.

"Um, we don't have a large." Demyx blinked.

"What?"

"We don't have a _large. _Did you mean _venti_?" the kid asked again. He was staring up at Demyx, blonde and surly and with completely bloodshot eyes. Demyx glanced over at the _Meet Your Barista! _placard. Apparently, this ferocious tiny person was named Roxas, and his favorite movies were _Garden State, Clerks, and anything by Ingmar Bergman. _Ok, then.

"Yeah. A venti iced white mocha with whipped cream," he said cooperatively. Zexion reappeared with bulging pockets.

"Iced venti white mocha, with whip!" Roxas shouted down the bar, rearranging the words into the proper order as dictated by Starbucks corporate policy. According to the other placard, the guy making the drinks was named Riku, with the considerably more violent favorite movies _Fight Club, 300, and anything by Quentin Tarantino. _He and Roxas were probably best douchey-hipster friends. Demyx was willing to bet money that they ate expensive sandwiches and pretended to enjoy soccer and had a room they referred to as a 'man cave.'

"Hi, can I have a small caramel frappucino?" Zexion was ordering, now. Demyx didn't get a chance to warn him.

"Um, we don't have a _small._"

Once Zexion and Demyx had extracted their expensive drinks from the baristas- when Zexion had asked for a straw, Riku had just stared at him for a full five seconds and then pointed wordlessly at the condiments bar- they picked a little table for two right next to one of the big windows, so they could people-watch. The toxic combination of Sassafras and small town culture meant that there was always something to see and laugh at. Today, for example, Pretty-Boy's cape got stuck in the Starbucks door on his way out. Hilarious.

"So, do you have an outfit picked out for that party tonight?" Demyx asked.

"Mmmph," Zexion said articulately from around his frappucino straw. He'd somehow already gotten whipped cream on his nose. Demyx laughed and flicked it away.

"Never mind. We'll talk about it later. _My _outfit is totally awesome." Demyx twirled his own straw boredly and glanced over at the door. Funny, he'd wanted to go to Starbucks so badly, and now that he was here, he was all set to go home. Starbucks had that affect on people. As he was thinking, Demyx looked out on the street. A girl was running directly towards them, dragging some hapless male friend along behind her. He snorted.

"Zexion. Two o'clock," he murmured lowly. Zexion wasn't one for subtlety, however, and he immediately looked up from his drink and began looking around. He quickly swallowed a mouthful of sugary deliciousness.

"Which one?" he asked, in his normal speaking voice. No, stealth really wasn't Zexion's thing, at least not when it came to making fun of strangers. When it came to actual sneaking around, he was crafty enough to sneak up on cats. That was the main test of sneakiness in their town, at least, as far as Demyx and Zexion were concerned, and Zexion was the best.

"Pink zipper dress," Demyx whispered. "Honestly, who told that girl that a pink dress would go well with red hair? And oh my God, look at her friend!" Zexion squinted to see, and then his eyes widened and his mouth hung open, even dropping his straw. The kid running along behind Clash-Catastrophe was wearing a _onesie. _No, not even a onesie- it was some kind of hideous one-piece jumper creation that zipped all the way down to the crotch. And the legs were mid-thigh length clown pants. And the whole thing was bright red. And he was wearing giant yellow sneakers. The entire image was breathtaking- he was straight out of a music video from 1989. Demyx could already hear the terrible dance beats, and see the groovy lights and back-up team. Clash-Catastrophe was playing a keytar, and Onesie-Wonder was trying to moonwalk. Ok, that was it. Demyx would _pay _these people to start a band. He'd even write the music for them.

"Does that zipper go all the way down to the crotch?" Zexion asked, in complete awe.

"Shh! They're coming this way!" Both boys immediately dove into their drinks, but The Electro Jumpsuit Experience (the name Demyx had invented for their band) pranced straight past the Starbucks and into the expensive sandwich shop. All for the best, Demyx supposed- if they actually met them, the spell would be broken.

Zexion finished his frappucino, and now he wasn't sure what to do. Demyx wasn't done with his drink yet, so he supposed he'd have to wait it out. He fidgeted with the cup and the straw- he hated not having anything to do with his hands. Usually he carried around a little notebook to write in, but doing that while out for coffee would hurt Demyx's feelings, so he hadn't brought it with him. He sighed and tipped his empty cup on its side so he could spin it around like a break dancer, or 'Spin the Bottle: Garbage Edition.'

"I'm almost done," Demyx said, a little sadly, and Zexion immediately felt like a tool. He didn't want Demyx to think that he was boring him! There must be _something _to talk about. He looked around the Starbucks frantically, and his eyes settled on a student coming through the door, who had what could be accurately described as Really Bad Hair.

"Hey, 9 o'clock. Terrible dye job- you should ask him to join your club." Unfortunately, Zexion didn't notice that he had spoken at normal volume, and before he could so much as hide, Dye-Job was coming over to their table, in long, easy strides that demonstrated that he was well over six feet tall. He leered down at them, Demyx whimpering pathetically and Zexion completely glazed over. Why'd he have to make fun of someone who was tall and had _tattoos_? On his _face_?

"What club is that, exactly?" the guy asked Demyx warmly, but with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"N-nothing, my friend was just being stupid," Demyx stammered, clearly terrified. Zexion felt like tool squared. With Zexion and his friends, Demyx was very cheerful and outgoing, but with the rest of the world he was incredibly shy, and being put on the spot by a thug with face tattoos, in a Starbucks of all places, would be his worst personal nightmare. Way to make a crummy situation a million times worse.

"Ah, ok. Thanks for clearing that up. And hey," he added, turning to Zexion, "this is my natural hair color." With that, the guy sauntered over to the counter and ordered himself some black coffee. Demyx looked completely miserable. His hands were shaking, and he'd lost interest in what was left of his drink.

"Dem, I'm really sorry… I didn't mean for him to hear that," Zexion tried. Without looking at him, Demyx stood, and dropped his drink into the trash can.

"It's ok, Zex. I'm going home."

"Demyx! No one was watching, that guy won't even remember this in an hour-" But Demyx had already stormed out of the Starbucks. Zexion swore under his breath. He and Demyx had _never _fought before, not even once- why fight now over some jerk with really bad hair? Did this mean… did Demyx have some other problem with him? He tossed his own cup at the trash can, missing by a mile, and ran out the door after his angry boyfriend.

Demyx had apparently broken into a run as soon as he was out of sight, because Zexion couldn't see him anywhere. Either that, or he had a fairy godmother who'd magicked him up a car and then- _no! Don't think like that now_, Zexion scolded himself. Now was _not _the time to live in bizarro fantasy world. He needed to find Demyx pronto, or he may never talk to him again, and that would kill him. Zexion was _nothing _without Demyx.

Not that he'd ever tell his parents, but college was not really Zexion's, as they say, thing. He hated it here. He hated the students, he hated the townies, he hated the classes, he hated the campus, he hated the parties. He hated the Starbucks and he hated stupid Sassafras. As far as he was concerned, the place had absolutely no redeeming qualities. Except that this was where he'd met Demyx. Demyx was Zexion's light, the one tie that kept him in the real world, and not the fantasy he'd created for himself.

As he ran towards 72 Vine Street Apartment 0, Zexion looked around at his town. His _life. _The houses with their cracked paint and peeling siding, the discarded beer cans, the broken-down cars and the stray dogs, all swirling together into the image of modern American college life. The place didn't have any castles or cobblestones. All he could see was a town that reflected its inhabitants- a mass of directionless young people drinking and drugging away the pain of existence. But he was willing to accept that, for Demyx. His Demyx wasn't a princess and he wasn't a prince. He was just one more lost little kid, and Zexion's always and forever. That was more than enough.

Zexion fumbled for his keys, but just as he was shoving them into the lock, someone on the other side pulled the door open. He blinked, and gasped in surprise.

"Demyx… what are you _wearing_?" Demyx blinked back at him. He was wearing a dress. Not just any dress, though. This one was pure white, with sequins and bows and glitter and feathers and taffeta. The garment was absolutely hideous- all the worst parts of prom and wedding thrown together into a freak bastard child who never should have seen the light of day. To top it off, Demyx had brushed his hair down and pinned one of those cheap plastic tiaras to his head, giving him the look of a deranged snow queen. But the vision still managed to take Zexion's breath away.

"It's a drag party, remember?" Demyx said stiffly, clipping on an earring. "Luxord drove me to the thrift store."

"Demyx…" Without warning, Zexion threw himself at his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his tiny waist and burying his nose in some feathers that may or may not have been covering Demyx's shoulder.

"Uh, Zexion?"

"Demyx, I love you," he whispered.

"Uh, I love you, too, Zexy." Demyx awkwardly returned the hug.

"I'm so sorry for being a stupid jerk in the Starbucks and for being such a terrible boyfriend and I promise never to do it again!" he rattled off, muffled by the feathers. They were tickling his nose, but he had zero interest in moving at all.

"Hmm. What's bringing this on? Maybe I should wear a dress more often," Demyx mused, relaxing ever-so-slightly. Zexion laughed and snorted, inhaling a nose-full of thrift store feathers, and he sneezed. Demyx shrieked and pushed him away, but his huge smile betrayed that he wasn't actually mad. "You're going to get _snot _on my _dress_!"

"You wouldn't even be able to see it, with everything else that's on there," Zexion shot back, also smiling.

"Yeah. I wonder if whoever sewed this was responding to a dress-materials challenge or something," Demyx wondered, admiring his outfit.

"Or they had overstock and had to get rid of all of it as quickly as possible so the manager could get their bonus!" Zexion's smile widened.

"Yeah, I think that's it." Both boys continued to smile goofily at each other. They'd never fought before, so they weren't quite sure if this was the right way to resolve things, but it seemed to be working, so who was complaining? Zexion was the first to break the gaze, glancing down to check his watch.

"The party doesn't even start for another three hours. Why are you dressed up already?"

"I wanted to check myself out, obviously." Demyx waved a gloved hand.

"Well, what are you going to do _until _then?" he asked slyly. Demyx, bless him, actually giggled and blushed.

"Oh, I don't know, Sir Zexion. Poor little ol' me. I'm all alone," he chirped, in an obnoxious yet adorable falsetto, batting his fake eyelashes. "Please stay with me?"

"Of course, milady," Zexion said solemnly, extending an arm. Demyx hooked their elbows, and without another word, dragged him off to the jungle of guitars and guitar stands.

Yeah, maybe this town wasn't so bad after all.

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I feel the need to write complicated spin-off fiction about the exploits of Clash-Catastrophe and Onesie-Wonder and The Electro Jumpsuit Experience. LOL. This fic was a lot of fun to write- I hope you liked it!

Review plz? :D


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